


Broken Bottle

by MissMoe



Series: Recto/Verso [1]
Category: Hyakujitsu no Bara | Maiden Rose
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 10:39:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11484645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoe/pseuds/MissMoe
Summary: Taki has crossed the Rubicon, so to speak. He remains deeply conflicted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I always imagined a snarky, trash-talking Taki underneath all his layers of prim and proper formality. In this scene, I turn him loose, at least his inner voice.

 

It’s been six months since I’ve returned to my country. I feel the walls closing in on me day by day. How much longer can I put him off, my knight? How much longer can I avoid his ardent touch? I’ve remained chaste all these months, unsullied and pure. Who am I kidding? My gods have seen me, all the things I did in the West. They heard me moaning, saw my body wracked with pleasure, but I only did those things _over there_. Does that mean they’ll overlook my transgressions? I hope so. If not, then I’m just a worthless piece of shit. It’s not like I can take back my lost virginity.

Even if my gods know the truth about me, they no longer mingle among us mortals. My own people are still in the dark about what I’ve done and I desperately want to keep it that way, if only Klaus will allow it. He follows me everywhere, like a dog. What I would give to pet him again! But I can’t, because I know that the most innocent caress will lead to all those _other things_. I ache for him—that deepest part of me aches for him!—but my cowardice makes the ache bearable in some sick, twisted way. I don’t want to think about how Klaus feels. Surely he must be miserable, stuck in a hostile land and now privy to all the insults that my own men mutter in his presence because they don’t know that he’s already mastered our language. My poor knight. I do nothing to help him. Like I said, I’m a coward, and a dishonest one at that.

The only things between me and my fear of discovery are my uniform and pride. I wear them like protective armor, like the thick armored walls of Murakumo and Onokami. I know that I cut an elegant figure in military green and arrogant formality; I was raised to be perfect, and nobody must ever see the flaws underneath. But Klaus has already seen me—in the room we shared at Luckenwalde and in my train compartment and in that wheat field near the border. He saw me naked and I showed him my true self while I was blinded with lust for him. When I recall it now it all seems like a dream of utter insanity. How could I have done those things with him? How could I have let him kiss me, put his hands and mouth on me, touch me _there_? Oh, if only he would touch me there again!

I lose myself in strategy meetings and on the training ground as we ramp up for battle. Chamberlain Hasebe, Major Uemura, and Second Lieutenant Suguri stick to me like glue and I’m so grateful because it gives Klaus a distraction of sorts. They trade insults like they’re sparring in the ring and I can’t help but be amused. Klaus’s carefree insolence is downright entertaining. Every once in a while I throw Klaus a complimentary bone of praise by telling him, “Good work” in front of my officers. Suguri hears me say this upon our return to base after a successful offensive and throws a conniption. He really wants to reprimand _me_ for my lack of discretion, but protocol and deference to his commander prevent him from doing so. He takes it out on Klaus instead.

“You’re late, Klaus!” Suguri snarls when Klaus pulls up on his motorcycle. “You should be back here _before_ the commander!”

Suguri is right on both counts, but I wave him off and have a little fun by telling the man who has cared for me since I was a child, “Enough. Klaus carried out his mission.” I add insult to injury by asking Klaus to help me off Murakumo, which he happily does. I leap into his waiting arms like a freaking princess and smile to myself because I can just imagine how appalled Suguri must be, and then I hear Klaus whisper into my ear, “How’re you holding up?” The low intimacy of Klaus’s voice snaps me back to reality, and when he runs his finger along the bare skin of my wrist under my gloved hand, I react as if burned. I slap his hand away. What was Klaus thinking? That he could touch me like that in public? I turn my back on Klaus and mutter, “I’m going to headquarters” without sparing him another glance. I’m such an ass.

Klaus follows me without a word of complaint to the control room where I call for the latest updates and reports. He stands behind me as I sit at the head of the conference table, leaning over me too closely, possessively, and I can feel the heat of his body, smell his sweat, and it’s all I can do to read through the list of wounded soldiers without melting into his arms. A name on the list, though, catches my eye and suddenly my disgusting carnal desires evaporate. I ask Klaus for my coat and sword and then I head to the infirmary.

“That’s no place for you to go, you know,” Klaus warns me.

He tries to grab my hand and I slap him away again. “Don’t come with me,” I order with a scowl. Since when does the dog tell his master what to do?

I march to the train car where they are tending to the injured and all around me my staff are parroting the same thing Klaus told me just moments ago: I shouldn’t be there. But they are my soldiers and I want to see them, even if I “dirty” myself in the process. I’m already dirty; they just don’t know it. When I step into the train car there’s a collective hush, a sigh of reverent awe because I’m not only their division commander, I’m a son of the Reizen family, from the first branch of eight noble houses, lord of my estate and protector of my people, nephew of the current emperor, and a “vessel” for the gods. How’s that for pedigree? Duty, obligation, honor, loyalty—it’s all I’ve ever known and the weight of it, heavy as it was before I ventured West, has only doubled since I came back home. I’ve already broken the sacred vow to my gods to remain chaste, which makes it all the more vital that I don’t fail in any other way, that I keep my shameful secret buried.

I utter a few words of praise and encouragement to the wounded as I make a quick scan of the tight space. The man I’ve come to see is prone on a cot in the middle of the train car. I move to his side and kneel to the artisan who made my long sword—the exquisite sword presented to me at my coming-of-age ceremony—the man whose hands are now ruined and wrapped in bandages. “Meister Torieda…My heart stopped when I saw your name on the list of the wounded.” But he makes little of his injuries and when I start blubbering about a swordsmith’s hands being his livelihood, he cuts me short.

“This is a war,” he reminds me. “Better to lose a hand than your whole country.”

I put his maimed fingers to my mouth and kiss the bloody bandages. He tells me not to cry. I cry anyway, although I screw my eyes shut and force the tears to remain behind my lids. By the time I exit the train car I’m a wreck, but I don’t let on. I know my role and my men count on me to play it well. It is as Torieda-sensei says: I have to keep all my feelings inside, hidden from others; I have to remain above it all. How else would my men respect me, be willing to die for me, if I am merely the same as them? I have to be everything they are not, a repository for all their hopes and dreams, a sacrificial lamb to our gods. I don’t own myself; _they_ own me—my people, my gods—they own me. Without them I am nothing, I only live to serve them. There lies my value, my worth. Love be damned.

My mind is in a fog of despair as my foot hits the first step out of the train car and I pull back, startled by the unmistakable head of golden hair that catches the corner of my eye. My knight. He’s standing right outside the doorway and I feel as if I’ve been spied upon and caught in the act of doing something immensely wrong. Like Suguri, my annoyance is with me, and like Suguri, I take it out on Klaus. “I thought I told you not to follow me.” I’m trying to think of something nasty to say to him to put him in his place, but he beats me to the punch.

“Taki,” he says in that bored, overly confident tone of his, “I’m going with you to your room.”

I’m genuinely shocked and yet, why should I be? Isn’t this what I’ve been waiting for all these months, like a condemned man awaits the flash of the blade before his head is cleanly separated from his neck? So we silently trudge back to my quarters. Dead man walking, that’s me. My whole body trembles with anticipation, fear and excitement grip me, making me feel both feverish and chilled. By the time Klaus closes the door to my room, I’m ready to lose my mind. I slowly back into the room, keeping my eyes trained on Klaus as he stalks me like a wolf after a tasty rabbit, and I stumble against the small table next to the bed. On it is a bottle of wine that Klaus had given me when we first arrived, a “celebratory” gift he told me, but I’ve only kept it on the table, unopened, since I’m not allowed alcohol. That bottle is now shattered on the floor. Klaus doesn’t seem to mind that I’ve ruined his gift. He throws me onto my bed and pins me down, tears open the front of my shirt and kisses me. Ah! He kisses me at last! The sensation of his tongue invading my mouth, hot and aggressive and curling around my own, is enough to knock the wind out of me. I’m utterly breathless, so fucking breathless and yearning for his touch that I almost don’t hear the knocking on my door. I tear my lips free of Klaus’s and gasp for air.

Major Uemura’s concerned voice is echoing in the hallway outside my door and I manage to catch, “…I just heard something break…Taki-sama! I’m coming in!”

Somehow I keep one octave short of shrieking, I’m in such a panic. “It’s nothing!” I call out quickly, “I just tripped and broke a glass.” This is so fucking nuts! I can’t be discovered like this, not by Uemura. The man is past his prime but he’s no dummy. Surely he can sense that I’m lying through my teeth! When have I ever tripped and broken a glass?

“Shall I send someone to clean it up?” he asks after a pause.

Shit! He’s suspicious and calling my bluff. He can see through walls, see that Klaus is pressed right on top of me, his hand holding my wrists over my head. Don’t get carried away, Reizen, he can’t see through walls. Idiot! He must have seen Klaus follow you inside, though. How could I have been so careless? I gather my wits and say—no, _order_ —in as formidable a tone as I can muster, “No. I’m going to bed. You are dismissed.”

There’s another interminably long pause before Uemura finally relents with an I-am-so-not-convinced, “Understood, sir. Sleep well.”

As if! My heart feels like it’s going to rupture right inside my chest, it’s racing so fast, but Klaus has the gall to smirk, “He’s gone. Shouldn’t you have called out for help? Or would it be too humiliating to be seen like this?”

He rubs his thumb across my lips and I am so fucking…livid, so hurt and betrayed by his insensitivity, his complete lack of empathy for my plight. Doesn’t he know how close we just came to being found out? Doesn’t he know it would mean the absolute end of us? No, he doesn’t know a goddamn thing because he goes right on being an asshole and squeezes my wrists even harder in his vise-like grip.

“Say that it hurts,” he demands when I grimace in pain. “Put it in words. Tell me to stop.” He paws at my bared chest. “If you don’t, I’ll do this here,” and he bends down and swipes his tongue over my sternum, “and here,” and he bites down on my nipple. I’m writhing in fury and ecstasy as he suddenly straightens and pulls off his tie. “I’ll do as I please,” he says with a wicked smile. He wraps his tie around my wrists too tightly, so tightly I can feel my skin burning and my hands going numb but I forget about all that when he starts jerking me off. My face is hot with anger, shame, desire, and then he embarrasses me further by holding up his fingers and showing me the evidence of my hypocrisy.

“You’re brimming over already. Just look. Did my teasing excite you that much?” He smears his sticky fingers onto my lips and I want to die. “It’s spilled over all the way to the bottom.”

I wish to the gods he would shut the hell up but he shuts me up instead when he takes my cock into his mouth and starts sucking me off. He’s sucking me off and fingering my hole and it feels so fucking good, so naturally I moan, “Klaus…not there!” He spreads me wider and I wail, “Stop!” like a broken record. He ignores everything I say because my body is telling him something else.

“It’s still tight,” he nonchalantly observes. He wets his finger with saliva and flips me over onto my knees. I want to fight him off but I can’t, my body betrays me at every turn and then I feel him right at my entrance, I feel the pressure as he pushes against me, I feel him breach my defenses and then the searing, burning pain as he opens me up and slides home and I’m freed from myself even as I’m made his prisoner. I moan and whimper with every thrust; it’s so good and awful and I don’t know what it is I feel: love, hate, fear, regret, shame, shame, shame.

“Give it up. Let me hear it,” Klaus urges me, “let me hear you cry like you mean it.” He shoves his fingers into my mouth, as if it’s not enough that he’s filling me to bursting at the other end with his cock. “If you do, I’ll let you go.”

But I’m at my limit. I can’t bear his violating my every orifice: my ass, my mouth, and now my ears with his mocking voice. My pride won’t stand for it. I bite down hard and he releases me from both ends. “In your dreams!” I hiss at him as I lay coughing, spit running down my chin. He sneers at me, then considers the red teeth marks on his fingers before he leans back over me and says, “You really are an obstinate ass.”

He unties my wrists and lets me go. I roll over and feign sleep. What am I doing? I’m sore and so very miserable. My body is still aching for him, but not like this, not like this! I hear him light up a cigarette, inhale, exhale; I can smell the smoke waft through the room. I long for him to take me in his arms and kiss and touch me like he did that first time. It was so new and innocent and, somehow, it didn’t feel dirty. I wanted it, I wanted his sweet kisses, the way he put his tongue in my mouth, it all felt so natural and right. His hands on me that night were so gentle, so careful; he treated me with such tenderness that for once in my life I forgot my gods and my vows. It was just me and him and nothing else. And now. I can’t have this, neither can I give it to him. My gods are watching and punishing me. That must be why it feels so wrong now. That they punish me is one thing. That they punish Klaus…what can I do? How can I shield him except to reject him, to bury what we had. The monster is in the room, but if I keep my eyes averted, can I still remain hidden? Klaus is talking quietly as he smokes but I don’t hear what he says. Turn away, I tell myself, turn away so the truth can’t catch me. I feel him kiss the nape of my neck and though I remain perfectly still, inside my heart has shattered into a thousand pieces.

 


	2. Broken Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been six months and Klaus is desperate to get some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Klaus's POV.

 

Goddamn it, my balls are going to explode if I don’t get some soon. Not that I haven’t been taking care of what’s necessary for a red-blooded man who’s still breathing, but I sure as shit didn’t sign up for this. My left hand and cock have been practically husband and wife in the six months I’ve been living in Taki’s country. I thought I knew what I was getting myself into; Uncle Hartmann had told me in no uncertain terms that I’d be giving up everything—my family, my country, my rights—if I chose to follow Taki east. I played my trump card…have I really lost?

The ceremony to make me Taki’s knight was pretty darn weird, but I’m game for almost anything, so I suffered no qualms when I got down on my knees and kissed the tip of his bow. Taki was dressed in his ceremonial robes and he was so fucking beautiful I would have done anything to please him. I don’t think I cut quite the elegant figure in my own robes as Taki did in his, and I suppose I committed a major _faux pas_ when I kissed the edge of his robe and everyone, including Taki, gasped in horror. Whatever. Now we would be together, Taki and I, forever, and I told him so. Like an idiot, I thought we would wrap up the festivities with some hot sex in his royal bedchamber, but, no, there was none of that. Six fucking months and not one…nothing…not even a kiss…just nothing—a big fucking zero in the romance department.

After it finally dawned on me that Taki had morphed into some unfeeling statue, I took to “relieving” myself in my crummy shower stall. I would think back to our night at Luckenwalde—when I had confessed my feelings for him and he had let me show him what I could do for him, give him love and the sweetest pleasure—and it would be enough. I would think back to our journey on the train, his cramped compartment with what’s-his-face standing guard outside the door, the noise of the wheels on the tracks masking Taki’s stuttering moans as I took his virginity. “Let me go all the way with you,” I had begged. And he had opened up to me like a flower. It was so glorious I had to fight the urge to scream, “Wake the fuck up, you goddamn fool! This isn’t real! This is all in your wildest dreams!” The memories would wash over me and I would come and come in the shower stall calling his name and then…what? Sit on my bed chain smoking and going over the notes Taki had given me to help me learn the sing-song vocabulary of his people. I have a head for languages and after all these months I know all the shitty things they say as I walk by. I don’t mind. My own people did the same to Taki at Luckenwalde, so it’s only fair that I put up with the same close-minded cruelty. I would put up with anything if it meant he didn’t have to endure pain, feel sadness and loss. I would give my life for him, yet he pushes me away. Why is he pushing me away? All I want to do is show him the sincerity of my love.

So I spend my solitary nights mastering his native language and I bide my time. Wolves are social animals, I want to tell him. They need the closeness and contact—the companionship—of a pack, of a mate. I follow him like a faithful dog, jumping at every opportunity to make him smile. He rarely smiles; even at Luckenwalde, when he seemed freer in retrospect, he never smiled. Then one day he does smile. At me. We’ve driven back the enemy—the country I used to fight for—and he actually smiles at me when I return to base, goes so far as to praise me in front of Suguri and let me catch him in my arms as he dismounts from his tank. I’m bursting with joy and so I slip my fingers under his glove and touch the delicate skin at his wrist, whisper something in his ear, I can’t remember what, but then he slaps my hand away and the moment goes up in a black puff of smoke. He turns his back to me and I know I’ve blown it, my one rare chance to make things as they were, as they should be.

I swallow my pride and follow him back to headquarters where he wants to go over the list of casualties. None of his men have been killed in this latest sortie, but some have been wounded, more than he finds acceptable. I can’t believe it, though, when he makes clear his intention to visit the infirmary. I don’t buy into his people’s rigid rules for proper etiquette, but even I know that the division commander should not debase himself in such a way. I try to warn him before he makes a mistake but he won’t hear it, not from me at least.

“Don’t come with me,” he tells me. Then he turns on his heels and stomps off like the pompous ass he is more and more. I hang back for a moment to put some distance between us; then I follow behind out of his frame of vision. I’m not a wolf for nothing. I station myself outside the train car beneath an open window where I can barely make out the conversation he’s having with someone he calls Meister Torieda. Interesting, that he would address this man with my own language’s word for “master.” I wish he’d use that honorific with me, but, then again, I never address him with “sama.” And I should. But I don’t. I’ve had my cock in his ass. I’m the one who has owned him, and yet, he owns me in every other way.

I hear this Meister Torieda tell Taki not to cry and it triggers a memory: Taki and I are back at Luckenwalde. It’s raining and we’re standing under the laburnum trees after he’s been told that he’s being deported. He’s so angry and hurt, so fucking humiliated, and the rain is wetting his hair and streaming down his face, but I could swear that he was crying, that it wasn’t just the rain wetting his cheeks. I decide then, as I hear Torieda tell Taki to hide all his feelings, that I’ll do what Taki needs but can’t do for himself. This man is telling him not to cry, not to feel, but I know Taki, the real Taki. He’s soft and vulnerable and so full of feeling even though he holds it all inside. I’m going to fuck it all out of him—his feelings, his tears. I want him to cry, I want him to lose it all, just for me.

When Taki steps out of the train car I tell him I’m going to follow him to his room. The look on his face…well, he knows exactly what I mean. So good, my Taki, my little master, I’m going to give you everything you need. Your knight is going to rescue you from yourself, free you from your own self-made prison. When we get to his room he plays the reluctant virgin, backing away from me like he’s afraid. He backs right into the night table and knocks the bottle of wine to the floor. I had stashed it in my luggage on the train ride over and given it to him that day, hoping to share it with him in celebration of my knighthood but, no, he merely thanked me in too formal a fashion and set it on the table as if it were a vase of flowers. No matter. I’m after sweeter things.

I push him onto his bed and unbutton his shirt. His skin is so smooth and pale; I haven’t seen or touched him this way for so long it’s almost too much. I put my lips on his and sweep my tongue deep into his mouth. His scent, his taste, how I’ve missed it! How did I even stay alive all this time without it, the scent and taste of my flower? I nestle my left leg between his thighs and grip his right knee to hold him captive. When I squeeze his wrists over his head he moans into my ear; it’s music, the most beautiful notes, and I want to hear more…just not that obnoxious knocking on the door. I’m not too worried because I know I locked it behind me, but Taki is almost rigid with fear. He breaks our kiss and practically chokes on his own panic. I calmly hover over him as he struggles to make excuses to Uemura. My Taki is a very bad liar. He fairly sucks at it and I can tell Uemura isn’t falling for any of his lame explanations but the old codger is too damn polite to barge in and spank Taki for being so dishonest. Hmm, maybe I should spank Taki for him? The thought makes me tease him when Uemura finally walks away.

“He’s gone. Shouldn’t you have called out for help?” I snicker. “Or would it be too humiliating to be seen like this?”

I brush my thumb across his lower lip and Taki gives me that look. I saw that look aplenty when we were at Luckenwalde, the look that would flash across his face every time he felt cornered, every time someone tried to insult him or make him feel small. My master _is_ tiny but he carries so much pride in him, enough for himself and the twenty thousand men under his command. That defiant look of his always drives me a little mad—with admiration and awe, fury and frustration. He lights a fire under my ass with that look. I wonder if he knows it. Everything else he does just confuses the hell out of me; he won’t say a word, won’t tell me what’s going on in that obstinate head of his, so I open him up the only way I know how.

That usually involves a threat or two. I give his wrists a harder squeeze before I let the alpha wolf in me roam free. “Say that it hurts. Put it in words. Tell me to stop.” I’m watching his face as I stroke down his bare chest and he’s fighting me every step of the way even as he’s writhing into my touch, arching into me as I lick and bite his nipples. The look in his eyes is priceless when I strip off my tie and bind his wrists above his head and tell him I’m going to have my way with him. He’s mortified—mortified and dripping with eagerness. Just a few strokes of his cock and my fingers are slick with him. “You’re brimming over already,” I gloat. “Just look. Did my teasing excite you that much?” I can’t resist making him taste himself so I brush my thumb against his lips again before I dip my fingers between his legs once more. “It’s spilled over all the way to the bottom.” Then I take his cock into my mouth and really drive him berserk. I suck his twitching cock and probe his tight little hole, stretch him open and he’s going nuts telling me, “Not there!” and “Stop!” like the horrible liar that he is. He’s moaning and mewling like a cat in heat, my little Taki, always saying “no” while his body is screaming “yes.”

I turn him over onto his knees and line up my cock, his delicate ass cheeks like a runway guiding my plane in for a smooth landing. I push in and the most obscene noises fall from his lips. “Give it up,” I tell him. “Let me hear it, let me hear you cry like you mean it.” I snap my hips and shove my fingers into his mouth at the same time, fucking him at both ends, I’m so rabid with desire. It’s been so long since I’ve had him, been inside him, his ass, his mouth, I can’t stand it, it’s all too good. “If you do, I’ll let you go,” I groan, if only he’d tell me! He bites me instead. My feral alley cat bites me. I jerk my fingers and cock free of him and he lets out several ragged coughs before twisting onto his back.

“In your dreams!” he snarls up at me. His cheeks are wet with tears, his chin smeared with spit, and I’m momentarily stunned by his reaction.

“You really are stubborn,” I mutter. Sheepishly, I untie his wrists and pull my trousers up around my hips. What just happened? Have I lost my mind? We were making love, weren’t we? Weren’t we? Or have I forgotten how to be…what? Human? I’m not sure how things just went off the rails like this. I was so sure that Taki was wanting it as much as me, so what the fuck went wrong? He turns onto his stomach and faces away from me like a reprimand. I watch the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes steadily, softly, his dark hair damp around his slender neck. His wrists are purple and bruised from where I had wrapped my tie too tightly. I light a cigarette and think. Think, Wolfstadt, think. What’s going on here? We’re finally intimate after all these months and he’s still rejecting my affection. What did I do wrong? Taki’s just lying there pretending to sleep. I know he’s fed up with me and wants to punish me with his silence. Why won’t he just tell me? It would be so simple if he did.

I take another drag on my cigarette and recall the first time I heard Taki speak to me in his native tongue. We were at Luckenwalde and he was angry, angry enough to forget himself and slip back into the language of his country. I didn’t understand any of the words he used then, but they sounded like the singing of birds to my ears.

“The sounds just rang and danced off your tongue,” I tell him now. “I didn’t even think they were words.” I lean over and kiss the nape of his neck, hoping that he’ll understand what I’m trying to say, that he’s still not making any sense to me, that I still can’t comprehend him at all. “Sing for me again, Taki,” I whisper into his ear. “Use those words and this time I’ll really listen to you.” He doesn’t move a muscle; he remains as silent as ever, a mystery to me. I cover him with the sheet and wait until I’m certain that he is truly asleep before I throw on my shirt and coat and quietly slip out of the room.

 


End file.
